“She learned about your . . . arrangement.”
Kaelen’s fists clenched. “Let me guess.” His voice had turned to ice, his golden eyes burning. “Castiel told her?”
Thorir gave a curt nod, guilt flickering across his face. “I blame myself,” he muttered. “She was unhappy. I failed to reassure her.”
No further explanation was needed. The pact between him and Kaelen—two brothers, one Omega—wasn’t something most beyond Asadia could fathom. To a princess raised in a kingdom of rigid decorum, it must’ve seemed foreign, even abhorrent. Wrong.
They’d thought there was more time—to ease her into understanding, to show her she wouldn’t be forced, that acceptance would be on her terms.
But Castiel had been waiting, knowing precisely what doubts to feed.
Queen Aurelina’s voice shook. “Reiyana knows her duty. We’ve spoken of it at length. She wouldn’t abandon us. Not without a word, not without a second thought.” She looked around. “Perhaps he abducted her.”
Alarik’s frustration simmered like a fire banked beneath his ribs. “She left no note?”
The queen twisted her fingers in her lap. “No note,” she admitted. “And Fia—her maid—noticed some of her belongings were missing.”
The pieces locked into place. A princess cornered by duty, burdened by a role she hadn’t chosen. An argument with her brother followed, leaving her shaken. And Castiel—her childhood confidant—waited at the edges, ready to play saviour.
The man wouldn’t need force to make her leave. Just the right words at the right moment.
Thorir’s jaw clenched. “We’ve sent men to search for Castiel,” he informed. “He’s nowhere to be found. Torsten is on his way to Vaelmont’s estate to question the rest of his family.”
“Do you think the family is involved?” Kaelen asked. “A marriage between Castiel and Reiya would elevate the Vaelmonts. Strengthen their political reach.”
Thorir shook his head. The way he folded his arms across his chest betrayed his annoyance. “The Vaelmonts are among the founders of the nine kingdoms. They are wealthy, and don’t need manipulation to secure power. The eldest son, Ambrose, is also a close friend of mine. The family’s loyalty to the Crown has never wavered.”
Alarik bit down on the urge to challenge the crown prince’s confidence. If Thorir wanted to believe the family was beyond suspicion, that was his prerogative. But loyalty meant little in the face of ambition.
Still, Thorir’s personal endorsement carried weight—enough that challenging it would serve no purpose now.
It didn’t mean Castiel himself deserved the same benefit of the doubt.
“We’ve checked the port as well,” Leif added, leaning forward with a grim expression. “We found some suspicious gaps in security. A few dockworkers mentioned the harbourmaster and guards were unusually absent—off celebrating late into the night. The troubling part? The refreshments they claimed to have received didn’t come from the palace.”
Alarik felt something inside him shrivel, tighten—die.
The late-night garden encounter. The stolen kisses and whispered confessions. Reiyana’s insistence that she loved Castiel. The missing personal belongings. The lack of supervision at the harbour. Every piece fell into place, forming a truth he didn’t want to see.
This wasn’t a kidnapping, but a meticulously-planned elopement.
The princess hadn’t been taken.
She’d chosen Castiel.
The truth settled quietly, a familiar ache threading through him. He let it sink just deep enough to feel, then pulled away—same as always, before it could settle for good. Shifting his stance, he let his arms fall loosely at his sides, his expression smoothing into practiced neutrality.
Detachment was safer; it always had been.
The royal family began to debate their next steps—where to send the first search party, how large, and what they’d do when they found her. The discussion veered toward Castiel and the punishment awaiting him—the lovelorn swain who’d dared whisk the princess away from under their noses.
Alarik stood watching. He knew how these things went—too many voices, too many plans, none swift enough to prevent whatever damage had already been done. They’d deliberate until sundown, and by then, Reiyana and Castiel would be a day further out of reach.
He saw Kaelen slip toward the door, restless energy practically vibrating off him. Silently, he followed. His brother didn’t need words when frustration brewed this hot inside him.
He needed motion—forward momentum.
Outside, their boots rang against the cobbled paths. Kaelen reached the royal stables and threw the reins over a horse’s neck, already halfway into the saddle before Alarik fully caught up.
